
^ Entile, Eoije anb 



Eotiert C ©tDens( 




Book /m /rJ< ^ 



Copyright}] 



/^/^r 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



A SMILE, LOVE 
AND A TEAR 

A little book of Verses, Tragedy, Sentiment and 
Humorous Dialect 

BY 

ROBERT T. OWENS 

I 

"Man a pendulum siuinging between a smile and 

a tear." Byron. 
"Still to us at twilight comes love's old sweet song 




jj^ARnetV^JTAJTjp 



BOSTON 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
1915 



Copyright, 1915, by Robert T. Owens 
All Rights Reserved 






The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



SEP 20 1915 

5)CI,A410536 



DEDICATION 

To Mrs. Alfred Wagstaff Jr. who said of her 
husband: 

"What is the world compared to you — 

To having you, holding you, knowing you true! 

Is there a heart gain half so sweet 

As when you kneel at my feet, 

Loving me, telling me you are mine? 

Is there a victory more divine 

Than that I am loved, and loved so well? 



PREFACE 

I KNOW of no object for which these verses 
were written. They have many faults and 
many metrical errors. I have no hopes that 
they will be received by the cultured few. But 
I hope, as I send these verses out to the reading 
public that they will find a welcome around the 
homely and humble firesides. 

The sayings of Monte Patton are not counter- 
feited, or manufactured out of somebody's head ; 
but they have been written, as they were spoken 
by an illiterate mountaineer. Ten years from now, 
I would say, all of the Tennessee mountaineers will 
be under the sod. Their quaint and homely sayings 
should be preserved for posterity. In order that 
the best of that picturesque life and language may 
be preserved, I have written down the sayings of 
Monte Patton. 

Robert T. Owens 



CONTENTS 

A Few Remarks of Monte Patton 1 1 

Napoleon at the Close of the Campaign of 1814 21 

The Bearer of the White Banner 27 

The Death of Pretty Sadie 29 

The Time is Ripe for Universal Peace 31 

The Wild Violet 38 

Cumberland Mattie 40 

Dearest 42 

The Mountaineer's Sorrow 43 

Sweetheart 45 



A SMILE, LOVE AND A TEAR 



A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON 
A Mountaineer From East Tennessee 

MY name is Monte Patton. I never 
had any larning in scule, and I 
never expect to have any larning in 
scule or out of scule. I don't know 

from a hole in the ground or X from a saw hoss. 

1 wiuld give any thing if I could write an order 
for some corn liquor. ' 

"I wois all through the Civil War and the uncivil 
war has been all through me. I wus all through the 
battle of Murfreesboro and partly in the battle of 
Chickamauga, but while the battle of Chickamagua 
wus a guien on I left for the mountains. 

"I left for two reasons. One reason wus that 
the bomb shells, bullets, smoke, cannon balls and 
grape shot were a-flying so fast that I couldn't see 
how to shoot daylight through the blood thirsty 
Yankees. The other reason wus that jest before the 
fight of Chickamauga I had sassed one of them of- 
ficers and the next day I wus a guien to be shot unto 
death. 

"While thar wus a rrionstrous charge a guien on 
II 



A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON 

against that Violetcrane, the Yankee general, I 
left for my log cabin in the mountains, I hated 
to do it, but I wanted to save the old hide of mine. 
You'ens would have done the same thing if you'ens 
had been in the shape I wus. I made a good soldier 
what time I wus than And I wus thar enough too 
suit me. 

"They arrested me some time ago and took me 
down to Knoxville, Tennessee, a city of fifty thou- 
sand people and the biggest city in America. They 
said that I had sold moonshine liquor. I pleadged 
'Not guilty.' 

"The lawyers said that if I pleaded guilty I 
would have to lay thar in jail for six months. So T 
thought it best to plead 'Not guilty.' 

"I hated to plead 'Not guilty,' but my old woman 
and my nine children would have starved to death 
for some corn bread if I had pleaded guilty. If 
you'ens are arrested for selling moonshine liquor and 
provided it is made out off the malt of your own 
corn and you have a house full of bawling kids my 
advice to you would be to plead 'Not guilty.' 

"Knoxville has a monstrous hotel of ten rooms. 
While I wus thar in Knoxville I went to see the 
richest lady in the city. I had been their guide in 
the mountains. 

12 



A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON 

"She axk me how all of my folks were thar at 
home. 

" 'My wife,' Sais I, 'Is not very well. She is 
putry porly and puny in her jints. She went to 
help me lift up a cow brute that had got down in 
the woods and she busted the striffin in her hip and 
you could have hearn the striffin pop when it broke 
two hundred yards.' Thar were a lot of other rich 
ladies thar in the room. They were mighty purty. 

"While I wus thar in Knoxville I went to ride on 
the street car and I said to the man that was a-run- 
ning the car, 'I'll be doust if I can see what is a-run- 
ning this thing,' and the man said that the stuf¥ 
that wus a-running the car you couldn't see. So I 
loud that the running stuilF wus some kind of oil. 

"I am not living with my wife now and never 
expect to agin. I use to beat her with a clapboard 
and be doust if that old durn roll of a thing didn't 
leave me for sich a little thing as that. She is a 
bad egg. Her name is Marthy. She is a viaggerous 
wild kind of a durn roll of a thing. She left a 
good husband and a good father to her and my four- 
teen children. I'll be doust if she didn't leave a 
good husband. I wus as gentle as a little lamb 
when I wus at home and when I wus not thar. 
Of course I jest raised nine out of the fourteen chil- 
13 



A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON 

dren, but if you raise nine out of fourteen that is 
doing purty well. 

"I named my oldest boy after George Washing- 
ton, the deschiver of America and my oldest girl 
after that Bloody Mary, the mother of Nicodemus. 

"By gorsh, what a pitty that Marthy left a good 
husband. All that old durn roll thing had to do 
wus to keep the meet for the children, sew some 
patches, do the washing and get a little wood; I 
always provided the bread when I wus not a scout- 
ing from the revinue officers. Then I had to have 
all of the corn bread that I could get a holt of 
to live on myself. Your own stomach is the first 
thing to preserve. 

" A revinue officer is the Devil. A revinue officer 
is jest simple perfectly ridiculous. He is worse than 
old Marthy. A revinue officer has no right to arrest 
me for selling the wild cat liquor that is made out 
of my own corn. When I work all summer to raise 
a crop of corn, the corn is mine. I have earn it by 
working, sweating and straining my jints in the hot 
sun and if I want to make it into moonshine liquor 
it is none of a revinue officer's durn business. 

"A revinue officer is a low down cull who keeps 
a poor man from selling his wild cat liquor and 
making a living for his wife and kids and takes you 
away from your cabin, a good cold spring and the 

14 



A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON 

mountains and put you in jail and lets you lay thar 
for six months and suffer for mountain air. I 
wouldn't vote for none of them revinue officers to 
save their souls from Hell. Thar wus a judge 
a-running down here and they said that he had been 
a revinue collector and I didn't vote for that old 
durn roll of a judge. I wish I could destroy revinue 
from the face of the Earth! 

"I'm a religious man. In my young days I gave 
myself to the Devil and as I grew older I saw the 
error of my wild life and I thought I would try to 
get religion. They were having a big revival on 
wild cat branch ; and I started going to the mourn- 
ers' bench, and I went thar for six months and I 
couldn't get religion to save my life. 

"The Devil wus sot in me so strongly that he 
hated to let me go. So I thought one day that if I 
couldn't get religion that night I would jump in 
Chucky River and drown myself. But that day I 
laid down on the mountain and went to sleep, and 
when I 'waked up I wus alright. So that night 
while a monstrous shouting wus a guien on by the 
good folks of wild cat branch I got as much religion 
as I wanted. The preacher said that I would have 
to forgive old Marthy, but I told him I would go 
back to the Devil before I would forgive that old 
cruel and unfaithful wife. 

15 



A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON 

"I have been trj'ing to marry sense I got a divorce 
from Marthy, but I can't find no one to suit me. 
I Avant a good woman or none a tawl. A good 
woman is like them flowers I seen in the flower 
garden at Knoxville, but a bad woman is like a 
revinue officer that makes j^ou scout out in the woods 
with-out corn bread and in the cold with-out fire. 

"When I wus a j^oung man I wus engaged to 
seventeen girls. I wus a good looking man then. 
I had the purtiest black hair and the purtiest white 
pearly teeth j^ou'ens ever laid eyes on. My teeth 
were so stout I could crack warnets with them teeth 
of mine. What a fool I wus to give up all of them 
seventeen girls for that old Marthy. One time I 
!?plit with her when I wus a-sparking of her and I 
never would have went back to her if she hadn't 
went to a-kissing and a-hugging of me. She prom- 
ised to love my old jints always with the last drop 
o' her blood, but she lied like a 'possum. Like a 
fool I married the Devil out of the seventeen. 

"Times are not what they use to be. I use to 
make the best wild cat liquor that ever went down 
a man's throat. Moonshine liquor is the purest 
liquor on earth. It is made from good corn that 
grows in the pure air of the mountains. They don't 
have no pure liquor now days. I have seen the time 

i6 



A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON 

when you could make all of the wild cat liquor you 
wanted to and sell all you wanted to without 
being troubled with a revinue officer. 

"Yes sir, by gorsh, you could go out in the country ; 
and sell the liquor and come back through the moun- 
tains where the laurels were so purty and see them 
stars above and the moonlight falling through the 
trees; and you could know that you could go to 
your log cabin in peace; and knowing that no rev- 
inue officer would trouble you. 

"That wus the summer time, but when the fall 
came and the leaves were so red and yallar, you 
could hunt bares, deer, mountain coons, 'possums 
and wild cats and have a wild time, I love to hear 
the music of the bare hound as she shoves her legs 
over the pine ridges. When the winter came, }^ou 
could sot around the fire place and ete bare meat, 
deer and crack warnets and have a good old time. 

"But them times have gone never to return. No, 
the good old times will never come agin. The men 
that use to make moonshine liquor and live in log 
cabins have gone like the deer and bare from these 
mountains. They are cutting down the timber and 
the log cabins are falling down. The good old 
hands that moved backward and forth the shuttles 
of the old fashion loom and wove them 'linsey 
dresses are nearly all under the sod. 

17 



A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON 

"The men and wimen that were made by the rain, 
storms, thunder and snow that came over the moun- 
tains are passing beyond the mountain of trouble 
and hardships. Men like me are passing away like 
the timber that has been cut and slashed from them 
mountains over yander that once wus so purty. I 
feel that I'm alone in the world. And more than 
that I live alone in my cabin by myself without a 
wife or a child to say a kind word. 

"I know what the law ought to be. Thar in 
court a lawyer will get up; and read it right thar 
from a law book and the lawyer from the other side 
will get up ; and read the law some other way ; and 
the judge will make it out thar to be some other 
way; and they will send it to the supreme court 
and that court thar will make it out to be some other 
way and the time they get trough with it they don't 
know whether it is the law or not. I could make 
some home made law that would be better than that. 

"I swapped nags with breech-looder Dave and his 
son fllint lock Bill and the boss that I got from 
them cull scoundrels d rapped dead before I got the 
blasted thing home. Them fellows are the meanest 
culls on wild cat branch. Breach-looder and his 
son flint lock Bill waylaid me on the road that goes 
up wild cat branch and those blood thirsty culls 
picked up a two hundred pound rock and hit me on 
i8 



A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON 

one of my lame jints. 

"The next time I see them sneaking I'm going to 
stomp out their livers through their hides. Yallar 
Ab will do it some too if they give him any of their 
sass. One night when it wus a snowing like uncivil 
fury and the wind wus a blowing as cold as the 
North pole, them rotten culls nailed up a gate on 
wild cat branch that I had to pass through. And 
I had to get off of my nag and prize the blasted 
gate open with a crow-bar, and frozed the very nails 
of my toes and fingers plum off and I broke a jug 
of wild cat liquor that I could have sold to yallar 
Ab for two dollars. Them heathens will come to 
some bad end. 

"Some folks say thar is no Hell. I wouldn't give 
up Hell for any thing. I like to hear a preacher 
a-preaching of Hell. I like to hear him when he 
scares a lot of kids half to death, when he makes 
the infernal lake of fire pop up through the floor. 
When yallar Ab and me goes to Heaven (Yallar Ab 
has bought at least ten wagon loads of wild cat 
liquor from me), we can stand at the golden gate 
and see breach-looder Dave and his son flint lock 
Bill and old Marthy in Hell. How I will lafif 
when I hear their jints a poping and cracking in 
Hellfire and brimstone. That will be Heaven 
enough for me and yallar Ab. 

19 



A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON 

"One time I had a little cold and the endfluend- 
ways on top of the cold and I wus not feeling very 
well; so I took a dose of caster oil, two doses of 
laudanum and one dose of calamine. I wanted to be 
certain that something knocked the enfluendways. 
And then I goes to work and I cooks up a old 
roster and make lot of gravy and you'ens ought to 
have saw me ete my belly full of that roster and 
that gravy, and I also ete a cup full of brown sugar. 
In about a half an hour I started down the road 
to the store; and when I had went about two hun- 
dred yards I began to get a little sick; and as I 
went on down the road I began to get a little sicker. 

"If I wus to jump up dead this minet I would 
tell you that I throwed up roster for three miles 
and a half down the road. And at last I got so 
sick that I be doust if I could get any firther; and 
yallar Ab had to come and haul me home in his 
goat wagon. It wusn't the roster or the medicine 
that made me sick. But I know that old Marthy 
put some kind of pizen in my coffee. I have not 
been well sense. That pizen settled in my jints. 
I wish I had a holt of that old Devil. I would 
destroy ever jint in her from the end of her years 
to the end of her toe nails." 



20 



NAPOLEON AT THE CLOSE OF THE 
CAMPAIGN OF 1814 

O'er the soldier's tent hovered the wing of the 

night, 
And a grenadier came dashing through the gloom; 
That bold rider was a news bearer of an inglorious 

fight, 
That threatened to hurl Napoleon's glory to doom. 
At the Imperial Tent the rider drew his rein. 
The words of the rain soaked soldier sounded 

awful and low; 
"It pains my heart to tell the news of the river 

Seine, 
But Paris has surrendered to the wild hordes of 

Russia's snow." 

A smile flashed over the Emperor's brow of steel; 
Napoleon laughed and laughed, as he had ne'er 

before, 
"Ha, ha, ha! It takes my mind from the bloody 

battle field. 
To see a soldier full of fun in these days of gore." 
Then a natural frown came over that gloomy soul ; 
"Why should I laugh with this clown of bonny 

France ? 
The Imperial Eagle must reach to-morrow's goal, 
I must begin a plan where to hurl my bloody lance." 

"From this Imperial Tent my grenadier be-gone! 
I am a man that wields the sword of blood, 
I must begin a battle at to-morrow's dawn — 
21 



NAPOLEON AT CLOSE OF CAMPAIGN 

Clowns must not trample Napoleon's glory in the 

mud! 
Speak your shallow wit to the bayonets alone, 
My sword's too bright to clash with humor's lance, 
No time to make a circus ring out of my throne — 
Be-gone or I will drum you from the army of 

France." 

The brave grenadier pointed to the Throne Divine; 
"I swear by the God of battles — stormy battle fields, 
Paris has surrendered to the Prussians beyond the 

Rhine ; 
And Russia is grinding the Eagle under their heels." 
Napoleon shook his sword at the grenadier's breast; 
"You fool! There is no God ruling on high. 
No army could have taken the Imperial Eagle's nest, 
Paris surrendered ! Paris surrendered ! You tell a 

lie." 

"Paris, grenadier, is a queen of a mighty empire; 
No wild Cossack dares to thunder at her ramparts. 
There no Prussian dares to light his campfire, 
A battle field shall never be seen by its merry 

hearts." 
The grenadier lifted a banner that by shells was 

torn, 
"This battle tattered flag I've carried over plains of 

death ; 
I swear by this Eagle through blood I've borne, 
Your Empire's Queen has breathed her last breath." 



22 



NAPOLEON AT CLOSE OF CAMPAIGN 

Then Napoleon saw a soul in whom truth did dwell, 
"What cowards surrendered Paris to that Russian 

horde? 
Then they have surrendered Paris to that wild 

Cossack's hell ! 
He that surrendered Paris will feel my gleaming 

sword." 
That great mind that had so often flashed in the 

clash of steel, 
Who had so often performed miracles on death's 

bloody plain. 
Who had so often shattered thrones by his iron heel, 
'I hen went mad like a mind that was wild and 

insane. 

History's saddest scene of war or peace is taking 

place now, 
The Emperor's voice sounded above a battle's roar; 
No battle ever saw such a storm that swept over his 

brow. 
The grenadier fainted who had never quailed in 

war or gore; 
That great Napoleon knocked his tent in a swollen 

stream. 
And madly flung the grenadier against the rampart. 
And the worn-out army awoke from its slumber 

and dream, 
And the bugler sounded a note for a wild charge to 

start. 

Napoleon spoke eloquent of his glory and his pains, 
"Paris is the heart of my free and great domain; 

23 



t 
NAPOLEON AT CLOSE OF CAMPAIGN 

Which sends liberty streaming through all European 

veins, 
Giving glory and freedom along the banks of the 

Seine. 
Fond Paris suffered all the agonies of dying pain, 
With martyr's blood flowing from her breast in 

shame. 
To sink the throne of tyrants to the bottom of the 

Seine, 
That liberty might reign over the tower of Notre 

Dame. 

"My cannons made that liberty blow out the 'Reign 

of Terror;' 
My grenadiers have carried that liberty to the ends 

of the Earth, 
My sword has caused that liberty, kingdoms to bury. 
My bayonets have caused that liberty to make 

empires a dearth. 
Paris! Paris! 'Tis where I so often in fame did 

roam. 
Where my warriors from battle won in triumph 

have returned, 
Paris is liberty's throne. Fame's throne and my 

home — 
Prom that throne Eve given laws that judges might 

learn. 

"Paris is the home of the fond pure wife of my 

breast," 
(And the first tear came to the stern warrior's 

eyes),— 

24 



NAPOLEON AT CLOSE OF CAMPAIGN 

"And an Austrain scoundrel now her lips hath 

pressed, 
And her purity will be ruin before to-morrow's 

sunrise. 

my God of battles, this is enough to run me 

wild — 
IV'Iy darling child, Paris is your cradle and your 

home ! 
Those Austrian scoundrels have stolen my pretty 

child, 
Those Prussian dogs have uncrowned even the 

King of Rome! 

"I wish some mighty God in Chaos did dwell, 
God would slay the Assyrians at my Imperial com- 
mand ; 

1 wish there was a Hades that I might uproot Hell, 
And hurl it against that bold savage Russian band. 
I'll go alone to defend liberty o'er the Earth I've 

spread, 
The crown of Divine Monarchy must forever lie in 

dust. 
The laws I've written must not be numbered with 

the dead. 
The sword of Louis XIV must in oblivion ever rust. 

"No more heart throbs unless I save the darling 

wife of mine — 
My lips must feel again the kisses of my fair child, 
I'll go alone and save my fond pure wife from 

rapine — 



25 



NAPOLEON AT CLOSE OF CAMPAIGN 

The King of Rome shall never ride a Cossack's steed 

so wild. 
I may have deserted my army in the desert of the 

Nile, 
Or sacrificed my legions in snow to save this life of 

mine ; 
But Napoleon will never desert his Paris and his 

child- 
Queen of France, King of Rome! You shall not 

go beyond the Rhine. 

"When gaining victory after victory in my Italian 

Campaign ; 
I seized the standard and charged o'er Areola 

through blood : 
Single handed I'll go and charge over the bridge 

of the Seine, 
I'll wear again the diadem that Prussia has trampled 

in the mud. 
I'll take this sword of Marengo and I'll make it 

drink gore, 
I'll drive Divine monarchy from the cradle of the 

King of Rome; 
I'll put down this 'Reign of Terror' as I did in the 

days of yore. 
Alone, alone and single handed I'll retake an em- 
pire and my home!" 



26 



THE BEARER OF THE WHITE BANNER 

The folloicing verse was written a few days after 
the assassination of ex-Senator Carmack. 

He was a great Tennessean who knew no retreat, 

A hero who did not know how to surrender, 
Who dared to bear white banners on "salooning" 
street. 

And was right and honor's great and brave de- 
fender. 
On the scroll of honor shall his name e'er be ; 

And his fame shall forever be a fireside story, 
As the youth beckon light of the land of the free. 

And his name is written in the Nation's glory. 

But a murderer's bullet has crashed through his 
dauntless breast, 
In a city where Jimmie Polk is enshrined ; 
A land where the dust of brave men are at rest, 

A place where peace and joy so often have chimed. 
The tomb of Jackson is hidden under a cloud, 
A woman's heart is broken by the shadows of tears, 
And the white banner's bearer has been wrapped in 
his shroud ; 
And even the bravest have fears for the coming 
years. 

And justice — from my native State has fled, 

And murder over its sacred ground does tread. 
And the white banner and ribbon with blood are 
red; 

27 



THE BEARER OF THE WHITE BANNER 

And the great brilliant orator and writer lies dead 
And the battle by ring-rule and mm has been won, 

And a starless night is falling on Tennessee's 
shore, 
And even the bravest, "The holy war," now shun, 

And the folded white banner is trailing in gore. 

The retreat of white warriors is wild and broken, 

But united again shall be this scattered clan ; 
When white banner's bearer, from tomb has spoken. 

His soul shall again lead the heroic band. 
His militant note, o'er shattered host, shall float. 
His defiance and song shall awake the scattered 
throng. 
And the united host at the sound of the dead orator's 
note. 
Shall dethrone the ring, rum, murders and a 
host of wrong. 



28 



THE DEATH OF PRETTY SADIE 

A little town rests in Tennessee hills so sweet, 
While a pretty river the lovely scene does greet, 
The bluffs cast their shadows in the river that winds, 
'Tis there that oft have wandered the feet of mine, 
There thickly grow the green maple trees so shady, 
It was there that liv'd the sweet little girl, Sadie, 
There the high green hills, around the town are 

winding. 
It is there the red climbing rose is entwining; 
But the bells are now tolling o'er the lovely scene. 
Merriment is hushed in a spot so serene. 
Faded, faded forever is the blooming rose, 
The laughter on Sadie's lips is forever close. 

Sadie, you've gone from the shady town so serene, 
Soon you will be sleeping where the grass is so 
green. 

I once saw snow flakes fall on apple trees in bloom, 
O! a far sadder scene has now fallen with its doom, 
Death's snow has now sadly wooed a heart of gold, 
Chilling, chilling forever a lovely sweet soul. 
You were blooming into womanhood, pretty girl, 
O! why was your sweet life taken from this cold 

world ? 
The rose was too tender for the winds that blow, 
Sadie, you were too sweet for the cold land below. 
Sadie, you've gone from the shady town so serene. 
Soon you will be sleeping where the grass is so 
green. 



29 



THE DEATH OF PRETTY SADIE 

Though the river, around the bend may lovely flow, 
Though the fragrant wild flowers, on the cliffs may 

grow, 
Sadie, your laughter has hushed its sweet refrain, 
No Sadie, those fair eyes will never flash again ; 
Sadie, though the red climbing rose may bloom and 

climb. 
Sister will hear no more the merry voice of thine. 
Sadie, you've gone from the shady town so serene. 
Soon you will be sleeping where the grass is so 
green. 

It is so sad to be torn from your sister's breast, 
'Tis sad that your lips, your fond father will no 

more press. 
It is so sad to be torn from dear home's hearth-side. 
Sad to be torn from where you sweetly did abide. 
Sad for sweetheart to weep o'er the silent heart of 

thine, 
Sad to leave loved-ones forever on the cliffs of time. 
Sadie, you've gone from the shady town so serene, 
Soon you will be sleeping where the grass is so 

green. 



30 



THE TIME IS RIPE FOR UNIVERSAL 
PEACE 

THERE was a time when we gloried in 
slaughter and the desolation of war. 
The glorification of war was on the lips 
of art and song. We were thrilled 
when nations went forth to murder each other. 
We rejoiced over the mangled forms of humanity 
that fell in the shock of battle. It was so sweet to 
our ears to think of some poor boy shot through 
the lungs; and his life's blood ebbing away on 
some battle field, far from the love and care of his 
loved ones at home. But that time has gone. The 
world does not, now, rejoice over the sufferings of 
humanity. Therefore the time must be ripe for 
universal peace. 

Old men have told me about the Civil War — 
cruel and bloody. Then a man shouldered his rifle 
and went over to a happy home, and shot down one 
of his neighbors — that was war — that was earthly 
hell. But that time has gone. You do not believe 
in it now. The time is ripe for the war drum to 
cease to beat; and the war steed to fan the air no 
more. There is no battle joy or glory on battle 
fields; but they are bloody fields of pain. A great 
31 



TIME IS RIPE FOR UNIVERSAL PEACE 

hole gashed in a soldier's side, is agony; and a broken 
heart for a mother, that is waiting for the news of 
the battle, — that is war. 

It used to be that theology was saturated with 
war and blood. It is strange that men would have 
prayed to Christ, and then marched forth to shoot 
each other's brains out. But to-day the civilized 
world claims it is a Christian world. Religion's 
leader was not for war. He said "I came not to 
destroy men's lives," and again, "For they that take 
the sword shall perish with the sword." Therefore, 
if we are walking in the footsteps of the Prince of 
Peace, we ought to admit that the time is ripe for 
universal peace. If we are not willing to accept 
the teaching of Christ, we are hypocrites, we are 
not Christians, but savages who are engaged in 
savages' wars. But I have faith, there is something 
in religion; and the time is ripe for war to end. 
He who commanded the storm on Galilee to be at 
peace; is waiting to command the storm of war, 
that is raining blood and tears, to be at peace. 

We are no longer on the frontiers. The bad 
men and desperadoes no longer pump their "shooting 
irons" and "forty fours." And why should the 
nations be upon the frontiers, and wave the bloody 
flags and with cannon balls hurl the souls of men 
32 



TIME IS RIPE FOR UNIVERSAL PEACE 

to eternity through pain and agony? The fact that 
the social life of the frontiers has gone, and the 
desperadoes make their wild rides no more; is an 
indication that the time is ripe for the nations to be 
taken from the frontiers, and to stop forever the hail 
storms of bullets. 

The people make empires and republics. There- 
fore, if the people have reformed the social life of 
nations, and have disarmed the cut-throats and bad 
men, it is evident that the time is ripe to disarm 
the nations. The fact that we do not believe in the 
gun play of bad men, is an indication that the 
sentiment is against the gun play of nations. The 
people know they can disarm nations of civilized 
savages, as they have disarmed law breakers. The 
world to-day believes with the Irishman who, on 
being asked why he didn't go to war, he said, "I 
don't want to leave my mother a damn orphant;" 
or the soldier who, having swallowed five or six 
quinine pills through a mistake, wanted to be dis- 
charged on the ground that he had busted his durn 
gall. 

Some people may say, that because George Wash- 
ington and his army engaged in war, men should 
ever refuse to give up war. It may have been neces- 
sary for George Washington to go to war. It, 
also, may have been necessary for him to own slaves. 

33 



TIME IS RIPE FOR UNIVERSAL PEACE 

The founders of our Republic recognized war and 
slavery. And I delight to honor the soldiers of 
Valley Forge, and, also, those who wore the blue 
and gray; but why should we hate a man because 
he owned slaves before the Civil War? Even the 
constitution of this Republic made it possible for 
slavery to exist. But fifty years ago we advanced 
far enough to abolish slavery, and sweep away for- 
ever that power which gave white men the right 
to wring their bread from the sweat of other men's 
faces. And to-day we have advanced so far that we 
are crying out to abolish war — war more cruel than 
slavery ever dared to be. Slavery did not put a 
thousand dollars in a negro and then kill him; but 
those who go to war expect to murder and be killed. 
We have advanced so far that we believe it wrong 
for nations to take young men away from their 
homes and send them to suffer untold agonies, and 
to die on the gory fields of war. 

Some will say it does not look much like peace in 
Europe. But the tender flesh of men' can not much 
longer endure those rapid firing devils, and big 
machine guns that were invented by the friends of 
hell. 

After Europe is ruined financially, after we have 
heard the painful cry of half a million broken-hearted 
mothers, after the flower of her heroes is under the 

34 



TIME IS RIPE FOR UNIVERSAL PEACE 

sod, after her brightest j^oiing men have been crip- 
pled for life, after her sweetest homes have been 
given to the flames, after her haughty thrones have 
been shaken, after desolation and famine is following 
in the paths of the war lords' iron heel, I believe 
universal peace will arise over the wreck and ruins 
of this awful war. 

You may say that the war lords will never let 
universal peace come because they would lose their 
jobs. When any trade becomes of no use to the 
community, it dies out by the very nature of the 
thing. When the state ceases to demand soldiers to 
defend it, the military profession — that trade of 
butchery, — will die out. 

We know that the profession of train robbing 
does not defend a community ; and we are coming 
to realize that the military profession in this en- 
lightened day is not following in the paths of men 
like Washington ; nor is it working for the good of 
the state; but it is out on battle fields to place the 
laurels on "heroes," to murder, to butcher and to 
under-mine the foundations of nations. 

In the days gone by, when the war bugle echoed 
from hill to hill, when the earth quaked with the 
roar of cannons, when the banners waved in the 
sunlight, when the shells shrieked through the 
heavens, and martial music charmed the air, there 

35 



TIME IS RIPE FOR UNIVERSAL PEACE 

may have been battle joy or something glorious to 
ride in a wild charge or to die in battle won or 
lost. But how is it now? Listen! Submarines 
steal silently and without warning under a battle- 
ship and blow it to atoms. Can sailors who are 
expecting such things endure the nervous strain ? 
The battle of Austerlitz was decided in one day ; but 
soldiers in the last war have dug into the earth 
like moles and are living in the mud, sand and 
blood like dogs — not one day, but nearly six months. 
That is a living death. Would an artist care to 
paint such a hell? Where are the rampart charges? 
The rapid firing guns have made them a sickening 
slaughter. Where are the flank movements that 
have won so many victories? Look up! the aero- 
planes are on the wing. Bombs are dropped on 
wives and mothers. Men may ride into death; but 
they cannot see the darlings of the hearthstone 
slaughtered. Be careful, O! King, how you touch 
ofF the infernal machine of war. You have in- 
vented too much. Napoleon's soldiers could not 
endure the "legions of snow" on the bleak plains of 
Russia. How long can the soldiers endure the iron 
rain that is now shattering ramparts of stone? 
Four millions have already fallen. My God! only 
one million in the Civil War of the United States. 
O! Emperors! your iron cannons do not last long! 

36 



TIME IS RIPE FOri UNIVERSAL PEACE 

Your iron soldiers cannot last long! War will 
destroy war. Peace on earth and good will towards 
men will yet be sung over the broken cannon. 
Universal peace will yet descend upon earth. 



37 



THE WILD VIOLET 

My sweetheart is in the heart of Tennessee, 
Where the mountains are so sweet and wild ; 
And no sweeter at sunset is the wild mountain lea, 
Than the sweet bonny heart of that Nature's fair 

child. 
O dear is the blushing violet in a rugged ravine, 
But O the blushing wild heart of the mountain's 

dreams ; 
The heart that I have won where the ferns grow so 

serene, 
Is far more sweeter than mountain laurel on limpid 
streams. 
O, for a bow and a fiddle to make the air bloom. 
For the heart of a Wild Violet in a lonely lea. 
O, for a banjo to play away the night and gloom. 
For the heart of a maiden in darling Tennessee. 

Many are those of splendor I could have won. 
But, little girl, I will woo none of those belles; 
For I swear by the sacred cross there is none, 
But one for whom my heart with rapture swells. 
You're the one with whom I'll sail o'er life's stormy 

sea. 
Your heart as a star through the gloom will shine; 
That sweet heart of thine in the storm will pilot me. 
And in storm or shine your soul will ever be mine. 

O, for a bow and a fiddle to make the air bloom. 

For the heart of a Wild Violet in a lonely lea. 

O, for a banjo to play away the night and gloom. 

For the heart of a maiden in darling Tennessee. 
38 



THE WILD VIOLET 

If in oblivion's narrow vale it is my fate to plod, 
You will still follow me to the mountain lonely and 

bare ; 
You'll drive away heart aches as I turn the mountain 

sod, 
By chanting your wild song on the dewy morning 

air. 
I may be crowned with the laurels of fame ; 
But I'll marry no shallow song and glittering eyes, 
I'll marry my wild song bird of a homely name, 
And her lips of sunrise will hush the heart-wrung 
sighs. 
O, for a bow and a fiddle to make the air bloom. 
For the heart of a Wild Violet in a lonely lea. 
O, for a banjo to play away the night and gloom. 
For the heart of a maiden in darling Tennessee. 



39 



CUMBERLAND MATTIE 

The Cumberland River of Tenessee's flowing, 

In a scene of hills and valleys that are all at rest; 

O'er its w^aters the bluffs their shadows are throw- 
ing, 

When shattered clouds are sparkling with gold in 
the west. 

There in school days, at eve, on bluffs I did wander, 
Finding fossils of rocks of the Silurian age; 
Over which many silent hours I did ponder, 
In a spot of views, bluffs, flowers and shade. 

Dimly seeing the beauty of the poet's grand dream, 
As I stroll in solitude to dream or ponder; 
Over hills, in the valleys, or by the wide stream, 
Gathering wild grapes for my love as I did wander. 

In that scene, with sweet Mattie, often I did stroll, 
When the starlight over the bluffs and hills did start ; 
And cloud broken moonlight linked her to my soul. 
As her moonlit eyes fell with rapture in my heart. 

Soon I left for my mountain river grand and wild, 
There I waited for a letter in my cottage home; 
But no darling letter came from my fair sweet child, 
And then my heart grew gloomy in my mountain 
home. 



40 



CUMBERLAND MATTIE 

Then on my homeland mountain foothills of dew, 
The fragrant wild violets were opening in bloom ; 
Wild music floated sweetly, o'er the brook, where 

they grew, 
And from the crags fell the shadows of the moon. 

When I awoke on the morrow, a chilly morn 
Came a-sailing with its cold icy lips of woe ; 
Kissing the sweet wild violet? that were early born, 
Wrapping hearts of violets in burial sheet of snow. 

And I sadly thought of Mattie, sweet sunny soul, 
That turn'd from me like a cloud of chilling snow, 
Freezing, freezing the violets of love of my soul. 
Breaking my heart like the violets in the cold snow. 

O ! from the violets has gone the laughing sunshine. 
And Mattie, the violets are in the cold, cold snow; 
And sweet Mattie you have turn'd from the heart 

of mine, 
Sweetheart you've left me with the violets in the 

snow. 

The violets die, they raise no cry against the snow, — 
Die violets, raise no cry, bloom no more forever! 
I'll raise no cry because Mattie loved another, no, — 
But how sad Mattie, "No never no," forever. 



41 



DEAREST 

The birds leave in the winter for the blooming 

bough ; 
But sweeter will be their songs after winter's dearth. 
Dearest, my heart's laurel, I am leaving you now — 
Dearest, it is parting that makes love sweeter on 

earth. 

The song bird will return to woo his mate in the 

glen. 
Where the dewy laurels on laughing streams are 

growing. 
Dearest, from the wild west I will come to you 

again. 
Where the pure air over the mountain is blowing. 



42 



THE MOUNTAINEER'S SORROW 

The icy lips of snow are kissing the sunny hills; 
The green valleys are fading under winter's sad 

reign; 
Winter's fingers are gripping the wheels at the corn 

mills ; 
And the cold northern winds are beating against the 

window pane. 
Want and hunger are in the mountaineer's humble 

home ; 
There are tears in the eyes of many a shivering, 

suffering child ; 
There are heart-aches wherever in these hills we 

roam ; 
There are many cries for bread from the bleak 

mountain so wild. 

Where is he who will heed the cry of the toddling 

child ? 
Who will give the poor a bushel of corn or a loaf 

of bread? 
Who will comfort the sick in the glens so lonely 

and wild? 
Who will ease a broken heart at a sorrowing death 

bed? 
What does it matter if they give the mountaineer 

a stone? 
They can kick the broken hearted out in the snow! 
Let the child cry on for a drink of milk or a bone! 
Let the sick drink the bitter cups of sorrow and woe! 



43 



THE MOUNTAINEER'S SORROW 

The Good Samaritan has eternally gone to the 

golden way; 
The mountaineers with empty sacks are standing at 

his door; 
Though their hearts are singing a heartfelt lay ; 
That good heart, so full of charity throbs no more. 
Do you ask me the Good Samaritan's name? 
We called him "Uncle Henry" in the clover blooms 

below ; 
The world wrote o'er his grave of tears, "Unknown 

to fame;" 
Angels call him "Love" where the golden lilies 

blow. 

Fondly do we hope as we pray and kneel ; 

That his spirit still watches o'er these beautiful 

vales, 
And that some young man will make his life, 

Uncle Henry's ideal, 
And bring joy and bread to these mountain dales. 
Or swing back the golden gate and let him return 

home. 
We have saddled his horse on the shores of time; 
Heaven may need him on the pearly rivers to roam 
But we need him, far more, in the world of hate 

and crime. 



44 



SWEETHEART 

Sweet is the sun rising over the blue wild mountains, 

When purple and pink the dewy morning glows ; 

Pretty is the moonlight falling on the shadowed 
fountains, 

Where the fragrance of the red rhododendron blows. 

But sweeter than murmuring streams is sweet- 
heart's voice of song; 

The glow on her cheeks is dearer than the morning 
sunrise. 

The music of her voice is like the chiming of a 
sacred gong — 

A holy kiss is like kneeling at the throne of bliss 
beyond the skies. 



45 



